


A Starving Animal Will Always Feed

by foreskinsmoothie



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Ableist Language, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Heavy Angst, M/M, Sexual Coercion, Starvation, Toxic Relationship, food deprivation as punishment, manipulative akashi, murasakibara whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28976136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreskinsmoothie/pseuds/foreskinsmoothie
Summary: Murasakibara's mama was pretty mean- that’s probably why he didn’t mind Akashi’s harsh touch all that much. Hit him ten times, twenty, it was like beating a brick wall.Which only made the boy in question strive to be that much crueler in the ways that counted.Himuro's determined to cut the infection that is Akashi Seijuurou out of Murasakibara's life but that demons claws are deeper in the giant than he ever could've imagined.
Relationships: Akashi Seijuurou/Murasakibara Atsushi, Himuro Tatsuya/Murasakibara Atsushi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	A Starving Animal Will Always Feed

**Author's Note:**

> hm. yikes

_“Mama!”_ Atsushi wailed, banging scrawny fists on the garage door- his stomach howled. His bruise covered arms and legs hurt too bad to go to sleep, no less on an empty stomach. “ _Mama, I want inside! It’s cold, I don’t like it here and my tummy hurts!”_

He knew it was futile even when he was young to do a pathetic thing like begging. She couldn’t care less and Atsushi could picture her on the living room floor rolling a blunt while watching those stupid American gangster movies and munching on whatever snacks she’d bought with their food stamps. She’d demolish them in a few days and Atsushi would be left to steal from other kids just to subsist, fuel this stupid growing body.

Most times, mama wouldn’t even respond which was probably the worst compared to all her responses. Atsushi knew she could hear him. He apparently just wasn’t worth the energy of a brief screaming match. Was that stupid? That he would rather be yelled at than sit alone in the dark garage, trying to fall asleep on a pile of soiled moth bitten blankets?

He wiped his snot on a flooding sleeve. All his clothes were too small, hole sodden hand-me-downs that couldn’t keep him warm in the stupid, cold, damp garage. He hated it there. The futon was too small. Everything was too small- or maybe Atsushi was too big. Outgrowing everything in his adolescent life and doing it far too quickly.

“ _Mamaaa!_ ” Atsushi tried again, coughing out another cry and choking on his tears. He drew out his words, knew how it grated on her nerves. “ _It hurts! It hurts all over- ‘m growing again an’ I don’t like it in here! Let me oooout!”_

 _“Shut the fuck up!”_ Mama finally replied- Atsushi glowed at the recognition and pressed his wet face to the garage door, shoulders jumping with wet hiccups and purple strands clinging to his teary cheeks. _“For the love of- stop fucking crying!”_ He could hear her rise and her footsteps were heavy, heavier than his own despite the fact that he was almost as tall as her. The happy feeling of mama replying to his pleas dissipated quickly when he realized she sounded heated- the garage door opened, knocking Atsushi’s lanky body to the floor, to illuminate the it with a strip of light from the house, made Atsushi’s tear sodden cheeks glisten and his wobbling lower lip shine. _“I’ll give you something to cry about!”_

Atsushi’s experience with the other miracles at Teiko weren’t times he often dwelled on. Why would he? They were characterized by aching bones, sweaty hair clinging to his neck, and being yelled at just like the rest of his adolescence. Indistinguishable from the rest of his miserable ass life. 

When he joined Yosen, he expected the exact same shit- the same formula that’d been used to render him exhausted, emotionally and physically. If he could just suffer basketball and get a sports scholarship, a full ride with a comfortable dorm included, he’d be content. Away from his equally miserable mama’s harping, away from the miracles hopefully. What he’d do after that was a mystery. He didn’t care as long as he could live peacefully and die that way.

Whatever that mindset was- whatever his middle school counselor tried to tell him he was suffering from- didn’t matter as long as he never stopped striving for that one thing. Because that was all there was when you scraped away his cold exterior, simple longings and simple hunger.

In his homeroom, he’s fortunate enough to have no one approach him. His grades are mediocre without unnecessary distractions and his ice melting stare ensures that there are none. It’s not like if Atsushi planted a big friendly smile on his face and braided flowers into his hair, people would be less disquieted by his presence- so it’s not worth attempting. That was fine by him.

It was about a week into school before Atsushi was approached directly by someone- a second year student with a black hair and a mole beneath his eye. Its not hard to be alone during lunch even in an enormous canteen bustling with loud teenagers. Step 1- sit at a table. Step 2- be 6’10 in Japan. He’d fallen into a routine of using his lunch credits to get the biggest entre in the building and demolishing it in minutes so that he could painstakingly try to do homework. Fuck knew he wasn’t going to feel like touching academics with a ten foot pole after practice and a round of his mama screaming his ear off.

There’s this stupid suave aura that Atsushi couldn’t care less for about the second year. Maybe he’d seen him at practice- probably not. Whatever, he isn’t good with faces.

“Hey-“ 

Before another honeyed word could disturb Atsushi’s meal, he asks, “ _What?”_ and none too kindly.

The second year is not taken aback. Probably heard about an infamously bad attitude just because he’d rather take a nap before classes than discuss what stupid brand of shoe was topping the stupid shoe charts. He doesn’t bother asking before he seats himself across from Atsushi, his own tray puny in comparison to the teenage giants’. 

“You probably don’t recognize me from the team- Tatsuya Himuro!” The second year introduces himself warmly, then hesitates. “Or Himura Tatsuya- I keep forgetting that it’s family name first in Japan.”

It’s thinly veiled that Himuro is trying to prompt Atsushi into gawking over him or even being vaguely interested in his dumb foreign bullshit. Atsushi is an airhead most days but he isn’t stupid. “Don’t remember you. Prolly won’t.”

Himuro laughs. “I’ll have to do something to make you remember me then, right?”

“No.” Atsushi snaps, his patience wavering. “I don’t care. I’m trying to eat.”

“I’m not stopping you! Just wanted to make some friendly conversation with an exceptional teammate.” Himuro picks up an apple and his fingers are spidery and pale against the red skin. “You know what the other guys say, right? They don’t want to be on a team with some stuck up asshole that they’re too afraid to jeer at right to his face.”

“They can think whatever they want. I’m better than them, anyway, so I don’t care what they have to say, yanno.” Atsushi chews, irritated. He already said more than he wanted to. “I eat alone.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

At Teiko, Atsushi never ate alone. Not out of any volition of his own. He didn’t really have a choice-- no, that was the wrong wording. More like he couldn’t say no to Akachin. 

Eating was rarely a thing that happened at lunch which was troubling.

But Akachin would insist, _“Just to get through the day, my love.”_

The redhead would always call him that, less emphasis on love and more emphasis on my. What was Atsushi going to do? Tell him no? That wasn’t an option, not in his position- he’d bare his throat and cringe while Akachin touched him. It hadn’t felt all that bad at first. 

_“When are we gonna be done?”_ Atsushi asked, Akachin knelt between his legs, propped up on his elbows in the storage closet with his chest bare, trousers undone. He saw the fury twisting Akachin’s expression and bit back a flinch. _“I’m just- ah, want to eat ‘fore lunch is over.”_

A pale hand took a handful of his bangs, leading the back of Atsushi’s head to the floor. The little bastard knew he hated that shit-- getting all the dust and floor muck in his hair. Atsushi just squirmed. What was Atsushi going to do? Tell him to stop? Akachin dragged his hand down Atsushi’s face, indulging in the giants discomfort, before smacking him. Hard.

 _“Ow!”_ Atsushi bit out, clutching the hot skin with glossy eyes. He’d said he wouldn’t. Said hitting was off limits. Atsushi tried to remind him. _“You said-”_

 _“If I asked you to lick my shoes clean,”_ Akachin said, eyes chilling as they burrowed into him, ripping Atsushi’s own goliath hand away from the rapidly swelling cheek flesh, so that he could lay a kiss on it, _“you would say, ‘with pleasure’, my love. You’re hungry?”_

It sounded like a trap. What was Atsushi going to do? Not respond? _“Y-Yeah. Starving.”_

Akachin began undoing his trousers, pulling his cock out.

_“Open your fucking mouth, then.”_

“That true, Murasakibara?” Himuro asks, crunching at his apple and wiping the juice from his chin with a napkin, all classy-like. Atsushi could puke at the pretentious facade. “What if I helped you with your homework? Would you keep me company- I have perfect marks, you know. Have to if you transfer to another country to attend a prestigious academy such as Yosen.”

“Whatever.” Atsushi replies when he realizes he’s been quiet a little too long, taking a colossal bite of lemon pepper chicken. He doesn’t go to school with Akashi anymore so there wasn’t a whole lot to be defensive of and there was no reason to think back to his days at Teiko. He still occasionally receives a suspicious wad of cash in the mail, or a gift basket full of expensive foreign snacks. He needs the help. This has nothing to do with that little devil in the hills- Atsushi avoids eye contact anyway. “Just shut up and let me eat, now, Murochin.”

“Murochin?” The second year asks, placing his apple back on his tray and leaning forward with a wide smile stretching across his face. “That’s an adorable nickname for your senpai! I’ll leave you be for today- but, I’ll be back to pester my adorable kouhai, promise.”

The giant grunts in response. 

Classes pass as usual- without confrontation. He spends as minimal energy as possible at practice, pointedly avoiding Himuro’s social advances. He feels people gawking at his back as he changes clothes in the locker room, as per usual, at how large he was even without clothes. An absolutely freakish size not good for much besides basketball, all lean muscle despite an affinity for sweets. Atsushi is glad once he’s in his casual clothes and can get as far away from his exhausting alma mater as possible.

His attitude changes on the bus home.

Mama’s mental health hadn’t improved as Atsushi had aged- she’s in her usual spot in the living room in a nest of unwashed blankets, head buried in equally unwashed hair, fell asleep with a cigarette again and burnt another hole through her greasy pillow cover. _Scarface_ is playing on the tiny t.v.-- she doesn’t like him fucking with it and there wasn’t anything good to watch anyway. 

The new addition is his older sister gathering the molding takeout boxes around mama into a trash bag.

“Fuck are you doin’ here?” Atsushi asks, crude as usual, while he kicks his canoe sized shoes off. He doesn’t bother keeping the displeasure out of his tone. “Wiping mama’s ass, like always?

“Shut the fuck up.” Akira replies- she has a medical mask pulled over her nose and plastic gloves on as if the entire apartment is a biohazard. She’s tall for a woman but not nearly as tall as Atsushi- in a beanie and black turtleneck, skinny jeans and combat boots to tie the look off. She speaks in a droning tone, not unlike Atsushi, but far colder. “Ride any good wealthy dick today?”

He grits his teeth. She always got on his last fucking nerve. “We don’t need your help.”

“Who’s this ‘we’?” Akira asks, straightening to look at him from across the tiny space. It might be the stuffiness but the tension feels thick. “You don’t give a good goddamn about mom, could care less if she died.”

“Yeah.” Atsushi clutches his backpack strap, glaring at the floor. “The feelings m-... mutule.”

“Mutual, retard.” She bends back down to continue collecting garbage. She treats everyone like that, like she’s the only human in a room full of unintelligent chimps at all times, burdened by the curse of genius. It makes him so fucking mad. He turns to go to the garage and she continues, “Get your stupid package and go buy yourself something pretty, _my love_.” 

The guy in question probably thinks it’s a heart warming gesture but Atsushi knows he doesn’t really have one of those- just throws money at anything he wants. And he’s even exactly sure he wanted Atsushi, just wants someone larger than him at his mercy. Sadists rarely give out of pure, unadulterated kindness. 

Nevertheless, Atsushi takes the envelope off the counter and heads to the grocery store with the bills inside, his heart in his stomach and his blood feeling cold.

Akachin is cashing out his favor soon. 

Atsushi can feel it.

It was weird to call the other miracles, the miracles. They were just people. Just kids. 

His favorites were Momoi and Kuroko.

His least favorite was Aomine- shameless fucker that got on his nerves. He’d crush him if he was allowed. 

A brown hand descended on his back when he didn’t put his shirt back on quick enough and Aomine crackled with laughter, harsh and so goddamn stuck up. Atsushi squared his jaw.

 _“Someone’s been busy.”_ Aomine snorted, up in Atsushi’s ear and studying him as if waiting for an outburst. _“Hey, I’m not judging- anything to get a fresh pair of sneakers and a warm meal, right, Mura?”_

Atsushi slammed his locker closed hard enough to rattle the entire wall of lockers.

He was right. Akachin bought him shit he needed because fuck knew his mama wouldn’t. No one in this whole world was going to do some stupid crap like take care of a six foot tall middle schooler out of pity, for absolutely no price. Akachin liked him, Atsushi liked surviving. It worked out, didn’t it?

 _“Anything else to say?”_ Atsushi gritted out, dragging his shirt over the hickeys on his back. _“Or did ya run out of stupid shit to spew, half ‘n half?”_

Aomine drove his fist into the locker right beside Atsushi’s head. 

It was the fastest way to make the guy see red and it was probably foul-play-- but he started it.

 _“Both of you, stop.”_ Kuroko said softly, Midorima minding his business as he fiddled with a purple stuffed bear on the bench. _“Aomine, don’t incite things, please. It’s no one’s business.”_

 _“They make it everyone’s fucking business!”_ Aomine roared and Atsushi turned around to face him. _“Whoring around with the fucking sociopathic captain for money, ever heard of a fucking job, slut?”_

_“Ever heard of skin bleach?”_

Aomine reeled his fist back then collapsed. 

It was a real short people move, going for the back of the knees, but it wasn’t like anyone would say that to Akachin’s face. Akachin didn’t have to say anything to communicate with the rest of the miracles, just meet everyone with a piercing, bi-colored stare and an expressionless heat that felt like needles in everyone’s chest. Kuroko was the only one immune to it, not that he’d had any reason to garner Akachin’s anger. Yet. Atsushi adjusted his backpack strap over his shoulder and fist bumped Aomine in a show of peace, even though both parties clearly still wanted to rip each others throats out and would’ve under different circumstances.

Akachin wouldn’t waste an opportunity to show off that sick ownership- he yanked Atsushi down into a brief and bruising kiss, more an intimidation tactic than an act of affection. His way of saying, _‘look at this animal I tamed. Do you want to be next?’,_ putting others in their place through displaying how he put Atsushi in his. It was uncomfortable. Every touch seemed to feel more gross than the last. He couldn’t say no, he needed the new shoes, the last pair was more holes than fabric. So, Atsushi feigned indifference and the others barely concealed their grossed out horror.

That was how most arguments ended at Teiko.


End file.
